Thursday, 3 May 2012

Held together with glue

It was something my Mum said, probably about 20 years ago, and she was in tears at the time.

“Everything in my house is glued”

It was a reference to the fact that she drops, smashes, or breaks everything. And if she doesn’t, inevitably one of her kids will (more than likely me)

Twenty years on and I’m feeling her pain. My house is starting to look the same. Most things have a missing part, a missing partner, or are just plain missing (in action. Probably down the tip by now)

As I sit here typing I can see:

·A three legged giraffe pen holder

·A broken wine glass (the last of a set of four)

·A recipe book stand that won’t stand up (snapped the leg off)

·A chipped vase (tap again)

And that’s just in one room. Outside on the drive sits my car, with the bumper hanging off (nothing an occasional kick can’t sort), the back door opens only from the inside (3 yr old comes in handy) and the glove compartment won’t close (unless my passenger kindly wedges their knee against it). Even one of my fingers is glued on. (but that was my sister’s fault)

I never get through the day without breaking or spilling something.

Yesterday I threw Weetabix all over my 1 yr old. Today I almost threw the one year old as I tripped up the stairs. Once I tripped and threw a whole jar of pickled onions. And when I’m not throwing things I’m throwing up. All over my car ceiling (yes, inside) and in someone else’s glove box.